


Tentative

by curiouscorvid (prometheanTactician)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, just a couple of guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 12:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12343143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/curiouscorvid
Summary: Edward had never had much interest in relationships. There had always been other, more interesting things to occupy him, and he was picky enough just choosing partners for a simple conversation. Still, there was something in relationships that he craved.





	Tentative

Edward had never had much interest in relationships. There had always been other, more interesting things to occupy him, and he was picky enough just choosing partners for a simple conversation. Still, there was something in relationships that he craved. In fact, he craved it in all facets of his live. The poor will pay it but the rich often won’t, and the more you pay it the more you know.

Attention. 

He craved closeness, affection, praise, approval, recognition. He needed someone to dote on him and love him the way he knew he deserved to be loved. To tell him he was enough. To make him feel like it was true. So it was a cruel twist of an ironic knife that when he finally found someone interesting enough, it was someone as cold and distant as Dr. Jonathan Crane. It was hard to pry even a full sentence out of the man when he wasn’t engrossed in his Scarecrow persona. But he wasn’t shy. He’d meet people’s eyes as if challenging them to approach, daring them to bother him. He didn’t talk much simply because he didn’t believe anyone to be worth his time.

Edward could relate.

When they’d shared a cell in Arkham, the silence wasn’t off-putting to Edward. He spoke enough for any two people, but he discovered soon that he didn’t need to. He just had to bring up the right topic. He mentioned he’d read Jonathan’s thesis on fear, asked a few questions he already knew the answers to just to get him talking. The other man’s eyes had lit up, his posture had straightened, and his usual corpse-like stillness was broken as he spoke animatedly with his hands. Edward found himself entranced in watching him, studying him. He was a puzzle, and Edward loved puzzles.

Later, he learned that Jonathan had known Edward already knew the answers to the questions. He knew it was an excuse to talk to him. He’d gone along with it anyway and wouldn’t tell Edward why. They’d gotten closer after that. Sometimes, though not often, Jonathan would even initiate a conversation with him. He didn’t do that with anyone else, and Edward liked feeling special. The first time he’d gotten Jon to laugh, or even smile, he felt for the barest fraction of a moment like he couldn’t breathe. Like his chest was going to burst. A curious sensation, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

When something is very, very still, even the slightest movement seems grand. It was like that with Jonathan. He was so reserved, so closed off from everyone around him, that even the smallest difference in his behavior stood out. With Edward, his eyes weren’t cold or challenging, but there was still a vague wariness about them. His posture was the same. Like he wanted to relax but couldn’t quite believe it was safe to do so. Sometimes he’d make dry jokes at the expense of the guards or other inmates, but he only joked with Edward. He only casually chatted with Edward. Ed had always thought that he’d need grand gestures to feel cared for, but Jonathan managed it with actions that were nearly imperceptible. Somehow, that was even better.

As time went on, stuck in a cell, Edward began to… worry. He tended to do that, especially when there was something good in his life. He liked that Jon didn’t hate him. He liked that he was being tolerated. He liked that Jon would occasionally humor his riddles, and not mention the panics he could work himself into over seemingly nothing. But Edward was very aware of how abrasive his personality could be. He knew he was obnoxious. He had decided a long time ago that he would never again change himself just so people would like him, but he found himself falling into it anyway. It was the overthinking. Jon was so quiet, and Edward was so loud. Dramatic. Jonathan could grow to find him annoying or ridiculous, if he didn’t already. All Edward could think about was how Jonathan would get sick of him. All he could think about was losing what he had. Without really meaning to, Edward found himself talking less. At first all it resulted in was more silence. Then something happened that Edward didn’t expect.

It was hard to forget Jonathan had been a psychologist. It showed whenever he deigned interaction to be worth the effort. It was in his analyzing gaze, in the way he spoke to people, in the particular phrasings he would use and the low, even tone of voice. When Edward grew quieter, though never completely silent, Jonathan began to verbally probe the situation. As if trying to find a wound. Carefully, not too much pressure, so as not to cause more harm if he found it. Edward was about bursting to talk at that point, and it didn’t take long for him to just ask if Jonathan was annoyed by him. Jonathan had just levelled him with his usual unsettling, steady gaze and told him that if he was annoyed, Edward would likely be dead already. Edward wanted to press for more, as was his nature. He wanted to ask what would happen if Jonathan did get annoyed down the line, but Jonathan had just gone back to one of his books and said the nicest thing Edward had ever been told, as if it were nothing at all.

“I like your talking. Often, it’s something interesting. Otherwise, it’s like white noise. I’ve led a very silent life. A change of pace is appreciated.”

That was the moment Edward realized he was well and truly doomed. It was also the moment he realized he wanted more, though he wasn’t quite sure what. He would stare at nothing for hours, trying to pick apart his thoughts and feelings. Feelings were the hard part. He didn’t have as much practice with those. What did he want from Jonathan? Well, what did he ever want? It all came back to attention. Everything came back to that. He wanted someone to like him, to like talking to him, to want him around. He wanted someone to hold him. He wanted touch. Not even sexual, just… Touch. He wanted someone to stroke his hair, or kiss his cheek. He wanted someone to hold him close and kiss the top of his head. Jonathan was one of the only people tall enough to even manage that.

The more Edward thought about it, the more desperately he wanted it. He’d never had that. He honestly couldn’t remember anyone ever holding him. He wasn’t sure Jonathan would ever engage in such an act, but if he could encourage it even a little… Edward came up with a plan. A clever, subtle plan. But not subtle enough to not get the point across.

The thing the two did most in their cell was read, sat on their own sides of the room across from each other. They each had their own piles of books, rewards for good behavior, and when they found one particularly enjoyable they’d pass it to the other. The opportunity, to Edward, was almost too perfect. Too easy. Just the slightest brush of hands while passing a book. Every time he did it, Jonathan would meet his eyes with something between suspicion and amusement, but he never said a word. Once Edward started doing that, he noticed a change in Jonathan. There would be moments when he’d be staring at nothing, which wasn’t unusual, but now he looked troubled. Sometimes Edward would catch him staring, brow slightly furrowed in thought. Edward had felt a twinge of anxiety, wondering if physical contact was crossing a line, if Jon was upset with him. Then he remembered that if Jonathan was upset with him, he’d be dead. At the very least Jon would stop him, right? He’d say something. Wouldn’t he? 

It was months after Edward had started that, and he hadn’t missed the way Jon seemed to finish books faster than before, and find more of them worth sharing. Not by much, but nothing escaped Edward. It was encouraging, but the troubled look never left Jon’s eyes.. Edward considered the possibility that it was unrelated. Correlation does not equate causation, after all. He would get lost in that line of thought every time they passed books, ruining the moment for himself. Over-analyzing it to the point where he couldn’t even enjoy the brief contact. Then one day, instead of him brushing a hand, he felt a hand slide over his own. It was freezing, and sent a shiver through him. Jonathan’s other hand came up to his shoulder, and before Edward could really process what was happening, he was being kissed.

It was… nothing to write home about, really. Just a simple press of lips. Nothing heated, or even particularly sweet. If anything it seemed mildly uncertain, either because he didn't know what to do or didn't know if he actually wanted to do it. Still, it made him smile, and when he did Jonathan visibly relaxed. Jon had been worried that he was misreading something. Just to prove that he hadn’t, Edward kissed him again. He felt Jon smile against his lips, but when they separated it was gone. Jon rarely smiled, and when he did he always turned his head as if to hide it. Edward wasn’t sure why yet, but he was looking forward to figuring it out.

Things with Jonathan progressed slowly. Neither of them seemed well-versed in relationships, nor did either of them seem willing to simply discuss the matter. It didn’t matter much in Arkham anyway. Despite knowing it would always be a temporary stay, it was easy to lose oneself in the isolated bubble of the asylum. Time wasn’t real there. Life wasn’t real there. It was like a separate reality, which honestly wasn’t helpful to anyone's mental health. So their relationships existed in a self-contained bubble in their cell. Bit by bit, they grew closer. Passing books became an excuse for a kiss, and Edward found that he honestly preferred kisses on the cheek and forehead rather than lips. It felt more affectionate, somehow. But Edward didn’t want to wait for excuses.

“You can sit over here, you know.” He spoke quietly after pressing a kiss to Jonathan’s cheek. His companion said nothing, but waited patiently for elaboration. “If you wanted to be… closer. No pressure.” He tried to sound off-handed, maybe even like he was joking. Honestly, he’d been tempted to just get up and go sit next to Jonathan but… Jon was the sort of person who appreciated having his own personal space. It wasn’t right to just invade that, so he invited Jon into his own space instead. Let him have control of that. Ed pretty much always wanted contact, but Jon might not. So, by Edward’s logic, the best solution was to leave it up to whether Jon felt up to it or not.

Jon didn't answer. He just stared blankly. Edward tried to seem like he didn’t care. He sat back down and opened his book and pretended to read it. His knuckles were white where he was gripping the poor thing. What a stupid thing to do. Jonathan was a solitary creature. He'd been humoring Edward's quirks lately but that didn't mean he would seek out further contact- Edward was nearly scared out of his skin when someone sat beside him. There hadn't been a sound. No footsteps, just... Suddenly, Jonathan.

“Did I scare you?” He seemed incapable of not asking, just as he seemed incapable of not smiling. It didn’t fit on his face quite right, like it didn’t know what it was doing there.

“No, you simply startled me.” Edward insisted, but Jon just scoffed.

“That’s just another facet of fear.”

“You say that about everything.” Edward sighed and rolled his eyes, trying not to think too much about how closely they were sitting. Their arms and legs were touching. If he wanted, he could lean against Jonathan. He could cuddle up to him. He could hold his hand.

He did none of those things, that first time. Or the second time. Or the third. When he finally did do one of those things, it was without realizing. Jonathan had let his hand fall on his lap while he analyzed a diagram in the text he was reading. He was tapping a long finger against his thigh, and Edward couldn’t concentrate on his book at all. He reached down, and ran his own slender fingers along Jon’s hand. He traced meaningless shapes on the back of his hand, moved around to the palm, then traced each finger. It was like fidgeting, but with someone else’s hand. He didn’t even realize he was doing it, until Jonathan pulled his hand away. It jolted Edward into awareness, out of the strange lull he’d fallen into, and he didn't dare look at Jon. He’d ruined everything. He’d overstepped. He didn’t mean to, but he did, and Jon pulled away and now he’d be upset and he’d call all of it off-

Jonathan used his now-free hand to turn a page, and then moved it back down to intertwine it properly with Edwards. The panicked downward spiral of Edwards thoughts was dragged to a halt by the shock of how cold that hand was. He turned his head to stare at Jon, but Jonathan didn’t even look up from his book. Edward blinked, unable to comprehend what had just happened, what was currently happening. Someone was holding his hand. Jon was holding his hand. While he stared at their fingers, threaded together between them, he felt oddly choked up. He promptly dismissed that feeling entirely and returned to his book. At lights out, Jon got up to return to his side of the room. Edward's heart lurched at the loss of contact and he immediately spoke to stop him.

“You can stay, if you want to.” He didn’t know what else to say beyond that. He’d never done anything like that before. Jonathan looked back at him, curiosity gleaming in his pale eyes.

“I… don’t usually sleep, really. I don’t want to keep you up.” Despite this assertion, Jonathan seemed conflicted as well as genuinely confused by something.

“You won’t. I’m a heavy sleeper.” Jon didn't move for a moment, just kept staring at Edward. Ed reminded himself that Jonathan wasn’t the type to put up with bullshit he wasn’t into. He wouldn’t stay if he didn’t want to. Then Jonathan moved. He laid down, and the bed was so small Edward had to press against him to fit. Jon didn’t seem to mind. He let Jonathan have the pillow, mostly as an excuse to basically lie on him. Jonathan was cold, and bony, and tense. He was always tense. It wasn’t at all comfortable. But his chest rose and fell evenly as he breathed, and Edward could hear his heartbeat where he laid his head on his chest. When Edward felt fingers running through his hair, he let his arm wrap around Jon’s middle despite the prominent ribs jabbing into his side. It was perfect.

When he woke up in the morning, he was being spooned. He could feel the arm around him, holding him close. He could feel someone breathing against his hair and feel their chest moving slightly as they slept. Jonathan was completely wrapped around him, legs tangled with his, and fast asleep. Edward hated to have to wake him, but he had to get Jon back to his own side of the room. It wouldn’t do to be separated. 

The progress in their relationship was all similarly intimate without becoming sexual. They became more at ease with each other, and while Jon became no better at initiating contact, he leaned into it more openly when it was offered. He craved it. Edward could tell, because it was in the same way he himself needed it. Neither of them had been treated very gently before, and that was all they were with each other. Careful. Gentle. It became increasingly obvious that Edward wasn’t the only one afraid of losing what they had, of ruining everything. Though, considering Jon was the ‘God of Fear,’ maybe ‘nervous’ was a better word for it. Edward could almost hear Jon’s voice responding to that thought. “That’s just another facet of fear,” he would say.

Eventually, as always, the breakout came around. The halls filled with screaming inmates clamoring for the exits or just to kill the guards. Jonathan and Edward had been through that enough to know never to leave their cells in the first few minutes. If the breakout was quelled, which it only rarely was, it would be in that time. Similarly, the worst of the chaos would take place during that period. Either way, it was less lethal to wait. After that, the first thing they did was regain their possessions from lockup. There was no haste in an Arkham escape. It was inevitable and almost routine, and no one would be able to stop them once they had their weapons. Except the Batman, of course, but he would be busy stopping the ones who were already out. There was a box of gas masks in one of the offices they raided on their way out, with “IN CASE OF SCARECROW” written on it in black sharpie. Jon got a good laugh out of that. A mirthful, manic cackle Edward had never heard from him before. It was terrifying, and invigorating, and Edward loved it. 

Jon stood up from examining the box, and held a gas mask out to Edward.

“You’re going to want to wear this.” He warned, voice trembling with excitement and sadistic anticipation. Edward immediately did as he was told. He couldn’t help but think they should’ve put the small canisters of fear gas into some sort of secure biochemical storage instead of in an easily opened locker. Hell, they should've gotten rid of them altogether. It occurred to Edward as he watched Jonathan empty the canisters into the ventilation system that Jon handing him that gasmask was… monumental. Jon was literally trembling with excitement, singing to himself about a crooked man and cackling maniacally. It was unlike anything Edward had seen from him in the cell. Jonathan as a himself and Jonathan as the Scarecrow were two very different people. But apparently both of them gave a damn about Edward.

It took longer than it usually did, as Edward waited for Jonathan to conduct his “research,” but eventually they made it to the sewers. Most inmates went through the obvious exits, but it was harder to be caught when you took more discrete ways. Besides, they figured they’d give Waylon a heads up on the state of things. A courtesy of sorts, to let him know the GCPD might go snooping around the sewers in the wake of the latest breakout, or that other inmates might take the tunnels. As they moved through the dark, silent except for the echo of their own footsteps and the distant sounds of chaos from up above, Jonathan seemed to calm down. His posture straightened, more professional and less predatory. He stopped giggling and singing under his breath, returning to his usual silence. Edward almost tripped a few times, just because he was so engrossed in observing him.

It took all night to get through the sewers and to the mainland. Once there, Ed located the cache of supplies he had nearby for escapes. First aid, food, water... And casual clothing, for blending in. Seeing Arkham in the distance usually inspired a feeling of smug satisfaction at the escape, but this time Edward felt… nostalgic. As if something was ending. He and Jonathan had never properly discussed whatever they were, or what would happen after. He didn’t know how important this was to Jonathan. Had Edward just been a distraction? An entertaining novelty during incarceration? That thought stung. He wished he’d just swallowed his pride and asked Jonathan what he expected from whatever they had. He still could. Jonathan was right there, putting on a shirt that was too small for his ridiculously tall frame.

“Do you have a safehouse nearby?” Is what he asked instead. Jonathan looked up from his long, fumbling fingers, trying to button his shirt despite trembling badly. Was he cold? Nervous? Was it the adrenaline? He looked caught off guard, which was rare, since Jonathan was always on his guard.

“...No.” He admitted, watching Edward carefully. Edward raised an eyebrow, leaning against his cane. He’d missed it while locked up, and his knee was killing him after the escape.

“Then where were you planning on going, exactly?” He couldn’t help but sound mildly condescending. Honestly, it was his default tone. Jon frowned and looked at the city skyline in thought. The rising sun made the shadows under his eyes look more pronounced, and emphasised the skeletal gauntness of his face. Edward wanted very badly to run the tips of his fingers along his cheekbones and jawline.

“I have a lab, hidden deep in the city. I don’t know if they’ve found it.”

“But where did you sleep? Where did you live?” Edward pressed. Jonathan took a moment to think about his answer, as if he were unsure what that answer actually was.

“I slept in my lab, I suppose. I never thought about it.” He ran a hand through his hair, which was in such a state it could comfortably house a few birds. If it were anyone else, Edward would wonder how they had simply never thought about where they actually lived. But knowing Jonathan, it wasn’t surprising. “My work is my life, so… I suppose I must have lived there.”

A man whose work was his life. Yes, wonderful relationship material. Especially when his work had to do with inducing fear in unwilling victims and recording the effects. Ed really knew how to pick’em. He wondered again, with a creeping sense of dread and loneliness, if there was nothing really between them. If it was just a way to kill time until Jonathan could get back to what really mattered to him. Edward bit his tongue, for once, and sighed.

“Well, come on then. I have a place nearby.” He turned and started walking without waiting for an answer, and for a tense moment he didn’t hear anyone following. He was sure that was it. The end. Then he heard hurried steps catching up.

“I beg your pardon?” Jon sounded absolutely baffled. Ed still didn’t look at him, even as Jon dropped into step beside him.

“I have extra room and you have nowhere to stay. We’ve already been roommates for half a year, I don’t mind extending that. Unless you’re sick of me by now.” He phrased it as a joke, but they both knew he was putting himself in a very vulnerable position. The whole relationship put him in a vulnerable position, and he wasn’t used to that at all.

“If I was sick of you-” Jon started with a small sigh.

“I’d be dead. I know.” Edward rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and finally looked at Jon again. “I do have a condition though.” A resigned look came over Jon’s face, as if he knew he could never get something for nothing. “The first thing you do is take a shower. You smell like a sewer.” Jon immediately relaxed again, scoffing at the comment.

“Wow. I wonder if that has anything to do with the sewer we just crawled through.” Came the dry, drawled response. “Sure. I think I can manage that.”

“Good. I’m not touching you until we’re both clean, so I’d like to get that out of the way as quickly as possible.” He went back to looking straight again. He could never look at Jon when he said things like that.

“Now, whyever would you need to touch me?” Jon absolutely already knew why, and Edward could hear the teasing in his voice.

“Less of a need, more of a want.” There was a pause, a moment of silence where Edward’s anxiety grew so large he could hardly breathe past it. Then Jonathan spoke.

“...I’ve never done something like this before.” He spoke quietly, as if he didn’t really want to say it. “Never entertained the thought, really. There were other things that required my attention.”

“And mine as well. I feel we’re very similar in that regard.” Edward admitted.

“I’ve also never… You’re very… Tactile. I’ve never had that. I’m never sure what to do with that. It was… easier, somehow, in Arkham. Like there would be no consequences if I did something wrong.” If he did something wrong? Wasn’t Edward the one who had to worry about that? “But now everything is… real again.”

“I know what you mean. But we’re in the same boat, my friend, and we are both exceedingly intelligent. Myself more so, of course. I’m sure we can figure it out.” He offered, despite knowing their intellect was part of why they were in that boat to begin with. “Once we’re clean.” He added.

“Once we’re clean.” Jon repeated. Even for someone as self-involved as Edward, it was becoming hard to ignore that Jonathan seemed to be as nervous and unsure as Ed was. That was comforting. It made any mistakes Edward might make seem less dire. Edward was still holding the gasmask in one of his hands. It was heavy, but he didn’t dare drop it. It told him Jonathan cared. It told him that he mattered to Jonathan.

On a more functional note, he was fairly certain he’d need it if he was going to share a living space with the God of Fear.

**Author's Note:**

> My very first time writing them, and mostly just trying to figure out how to do that. I hope it's okay, I know there's a lot of Good Shit in the tag already.


End file.
